


An Intervention.

by CescaLR



Series: The Time After Everything (Season 4 AU) [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lydia has a gossiping spy network at her beck and call and you cannot convince me otherwise, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, Revelation, Season/Series 04 AU, Swearing, i guess this doesn't need many tags then huh., stiles is something, things are found out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Actual plot happens, and shit really is found out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! Shorter break than I thought, but still. I'll be gone again for a little while in a little bit, but I'm trying to get out at least one chapter for a few things (in this case, at least one -shot for this series.)  
> Hope you like it and sorry for the wait. the other will be deleted most likely.

Stiles frowned up at his house. The lights were on, but as per usual he knew his dad wasn't home. 

(The Sheriff was likely pulling an overnight at the station; Stiles would normally worry about the food he was eating if it wasn't for the fact that right now he has other things on his mind, thank you very much, and one greasy burger wasn't going to kill his old man.)

(No matter how much it made him internally freak out, but that was the anxiety talking again.)

(And thantophobia. Stiles is fully aware of his flaws; it's a thing.)

Malia squeezes his hand, and he glances over. From the look on her face, she's as aware of the guests in the living room as he is - and its likely she can smell their emotions, too. Though that's always more guesswork than his empathy. 

Stiles squeezes back, and brief black lines are pulled through her veins and up his arm, stark and contrasting and brutally obvious. 

(He feels a little better, though, and she looks it. Usually, he'd feel bad about using it. But he doesn't. Maybe the tree isn't so evil after all.)

(He's also not usually able to control it. But now he is, and that's good. That's a good thing, that right there.)

She looks at him, as if to say, ' _should we go in?';_ as if to give him an out - they could run, flee, get in his jeep and stay away for a while, just the two of them. 

(He knows there's not much holding her here. It probably should be bad that Stiles is glad he's the only reason... but is it so wrong to want something, someone, that's just for him; that's on his side, forever and always?)

(Stiles doesn't think so. Again, the guilt he'd usually feel at that is... absent. He briefly wonders if the tree got rid of that complex, but dismisses it. The Nogitsune and his mother wouldn't weight so heavily on his mind still if it did.)

Malia cocks her head; inclines it, and she conveys her acceptance of Stiles' decision. 

This is his problem, what's happening. His life that's being royally screwed with right now, and his closest friends that are inside the house. His brother in all but blood, the strawberry blonde genius whose become a great friend of his over the months. The girlfriend of his best friend, and the IED runt - ehm; Liam. He's not sure what to make of the kid quite yet. And it's kind of sad that he's only got two friends, wow that's depressing. 

She squeezes his hand, and the veins blacken for a moment; offering strength and comfort, reinforcing his understanding that she'll be there for him, no matter what.

(Malia figures he has a problem with getting that. She asked Morrell, once, what it was when you didn't believe people wouldn't leave. Morrell's expression didn't change, but she did reprimand Malia for the double negative. Then she told the coyote-girl that Stiles' problems were his own, and he'd tell her when he found them out himself. Eichen house wasn't great, but at least she'd gotten a free psychiatrist from it.)

(She still didn't know what it was. The thing with people leaving. Malia really just didn't want Stiles to look so surprised whenever she was on his side.)

Stiles nods, and they walk up to the front porch. He lets go of her hand as Scott opens the door, and Stiles knows this to be an intervention. It's not that hard to realise, really. You'd actually have to be stupidly oblivious to miss that, in his opinion. 

Scott stands aside. Stiles grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes; They're wary, the two of them, and with good reason. 

"You're back." Scott smiles, happy his friends aren't in danger. Because, in truth, that's what matters here. At least, to him. 

(He still needs to know what's going on, though. A pack shouldn't keep secrets from each other, not if it's going to work. And, in part - his wolf wants to know how useful his friend is as a pack member, as much as Scott hates to admit that. He'd accept his friend regardless; they've known each other for years... but still. His wolf wants to protect his territory and his pack, and Scott recognises the necessity of this... meeting.)

"Nice set up." Stiles comments, brushing past Scott and entering the living room. "Might figure this to be an interrogation." He adds, glancing at the two chairs pushed opposite the couch and armchair. Stiles knows to sit on the dining chairs but he's feeling abrasive for some reason, so he doesn't. He doesn't know  _why,_ and he doesn't particularly want to.

(If there's one thing Stiles will admit, it's that he ignores anything and everything regarding himself.)

Malia does the same - sits on the arm of the armchair, ready to stand and bolt if needed, one hand semi-discretely on his bicep.

(ready to cling and drag and carry if necessary.)

Stiles places a hand over hers and smiles, comforting and reassuring, and she relaxes slightly. 

 _'They're friends, Mal.'_ He tries to convey.  _'Nothing's gonna happen, really.'_

(This whole thing has put a wedge in his plans to assimilate Malia into the pack. But coyotes and wolves don't get along, according to legend - and he worries that that's the case in reality.)

(He just want's her to be happy. To have friends and, to quote Scott, a semi-normal life. Is that so much to ask?)

(After all she's been through... Malia deserves it more than most.)

Stiles squeezes her hand, and drops his. The others enter the room from various places around the house - Lydia comes down the stairs, Kira and Liam enter from the kitchen. Scott was already behind them; he's sat on the couch to their left. But the armchair is a strategic position, Stiles knows, and he's not giving that up quite yet. 

(He's a fan of ignoring his problems until they go away. This, is directly opposing that wish. It's annoying.)

Liam takes his place on one of the dining chairs, as does Lydia (though her with obvious distaste - she'd prefer comfort, of course, Stiles knows that.) and Kira drops herself down next to Scotty on the couch.

Lydia smiles sweetly. "Shall we?" She says, and Stiles mentally holds back any reaction, just looks on as if slightly confused but mostly just bored. 

"Dude, I still don't know what all this is about." Stiles says frankly, addressing Scott. 

This is a lie, of course. He and Malia had a nice romp in the woods for a bit, and Mal nearly murderized Scotty, which... wasn't good, of course not, but you know.

She didn't. So all's well that ends well, as far as he's concerned. And she won't do it again, regardless. They've seen to that, she's got a hold of things now. He's still a bit iffy on who or what is her anchor, but that doesn't matter because he can bring her down from it anyway so it's fine. 

And that was an isolated incident, anyway. She's got control at all other times... that tree just messes with everything. 

Scott sighs, frowns. Stiles raised an eyebrow for a second - more of a quirk, really - questioning. Scott relents, of course he does. At least Stiles can trust Scott to be straight up about this. Probably. 

"What happened in the woods?" He says. "You ran off and we couldn't track either of you."

Stiles blinked. He, for a second, glanced at Malia, but she was just as surprised at that as he was. 

(Stiles and her knew he couldn't be tracked, but the fact that Malia wasn't track-able either is.... odd. And very much news to them.)

"Really now?" Stiles asks, curious. "oh... kay, then." 

"Wait - you didn't know?" Liam asks, out of turn, and Stiles looks at him. 

"Oh, I'm well aware I wasn't. But - Malia's news." He says to the beta. Liam looks - well, Stiles thinks he's confused, and that would make sense, but the kid's probably just thinking. 

It's the same kind of expression Scott gets when he's thinking. Bless the dude, but he generally tends to look confused - which is good, because people underestimate his friend's intelligence, but bad because people tend not to take the Teen Wolf seriously. Stiles would know - he's made that mistake once, which was pretty rude, actually. Mentally, Stiles winces. He knows his friend better now, of course, but he didn't then. 

(That was a long time ago. Or, at least, it seems like it. Ninth grade was a difficult time for beacon hills, however, and Stiles doesn't like to think about it.)

(None of them do. Not Malia, because that was when the car crash happened. Not him, because that was - incredibly close to his mother's death, not Scott, because his dad was a jackass worse than Jackson (but not quite as bad as Mr. Lahey - No-one's on his level of evil) and Jackson, as much as he despises thinking of the jackass, because that was the year he found out about his adoption. Really, the Beacon Hills originals (sort of, but Scott might as well be one so it doesn't matter) had a shit time of it if he's being honest with himself.)

(Ha. Him, being honest. What are the odds.)

Malia clears her throat, and he blinks. Lydia rolls her eyes, and repeats her command. "Show them." She says. "Malia's been explaining what she knows while you spaced out-" Stiles winces mentally- "And I already know, but they don't and definitely need proof." 

Lydia nearly always gets what she wants, and this is no exception. Stiles removes Malia's hand from his bicep, and holds their clasped hands up. Seconds later, black veins start spreading - Malia's darken, and travel down, and the blackness transfers over to him - his veins standing out in stark contrast to his fair skin. 

Malia relaxes, he knows - and he knows he's looks better. But no-ones' a steady supply of pain, not really, and stiles turns it off before it stops being pain he's taking. 

The veins die down on Malia's arm. He watches as his travel up his sleeve and disappear, the black lines flattening back down and the energy no longer leaving him slightly jittery - he hadn't needed that much, but whatever he is doesn't seem to have a clue about the concept of enough, because that slight feeling is gone and all he feels like is needing more. 

(This, this is what he hates. This constant...  _need,_ he supposes. He doesn't like to think the word that follows, so he's not going to.)

He doesn't see it, but his eyes are darker. Stiles blinks, and they're whisky-gold in the light of dawn breaking through the gap in the curtains. 

Stiles exhales slowly, and doesn't look to his friends. He feels jittery again, but not with energy. 

He doesn't like the feeling of fear. It puts his nerves on end and spikes his anger, because that's what his fear does. Lately. 

(To be truthful, Stiles fears but fears strangely. Generally, he doesn't have the same level of what is scary as most people seem to, and his instincts are more often fight than flight.)

(Taunts work wonders - as in, he always seems to fall for them, for goading. He's never known why, and it's irritating beyond belief.)

Scott glances at him. Malia squeezes his forearm, and Liam quite obviously sniffs the air, this time actually confused.

Crap. Stiles breaths, calms, and tries to replicate whatever happened in the woods to make him unable to be tracked.

That part doesn't work, of course it doesn't (when does anything ever work?) but he does calm, a little and the fear - well, not really fear, he supposes, though there was a sharp spike of that at first - dies down, calms too, into a kind of wary, worried-tasting tangy feeling in the back of his throat.

(Like he's going to throw up off oranges or something weird like that. He's still getting used to this empathy thing... different people feel differently. For Noshiko, it was like weather - for Malia, like feelings; a chain around the neck, weighing her down for pain, and a warm blanket surrounding them for comfort, as an example. For Scott, it appears to be food - which is hilarious. If only he could say that without looking fucking insane, well... he probably wouldn't. Since even if he wouldn't look insane, it's still not something Normal Human Stiles should be able to do, in Scott's eyes - Stiles figures.)

"Well." Stiles states, then has no idea how to continue. "That - is something that's been existing for a little while now." He finishes, awkwardly stilted. 

There's a pause, because of course there is - Stiles knew this would be awkward as fuck. 

(He's glad he's not being glared at, yet, however. Some of his nightmares may or may not have been about this very situation happening very differently.)

"When?" Scott asks. 

"You know." Stiles says, because he does. "After the... funerals, wasn't it?" Lydia states rhetorically, but Stiles nods regardless in confirmation. "Yeah." He mutters. "Wasn't controllable at first." He admits. "That's new. Recent."

Kira is silent, and Stiles isn't sure what that means. Stiles knows Kira knows that he went to see her mom, because - well, he's not sure he just does, okay - because reasons, and he almost wants her to speak, but doesn't want her to talk at all ever, because she might tell everyone that and he doesn't want people knowing. 

She doesn't. Just stares, and Stiles isn't exactly thrilled that bubbly, kind Kira is looking at him warily, but he knows why. Can read it off her emotions like words off a page and motives from a crime.

(If you only look hard enough, for the latter. And aren't possessed by a fox spirit, quite obviously regarding the former.)

Stiles averts his eyes and looks to Scott, worried and wary and hopeful Scott (worried because he doesn't know what this means, wary because the Nogitsune had that ability and he can't help being wary, hopeful because his wolf knows the use of that ability well (or thinks it does) and knows it to be useful, guilty because he doesn't want to judge his friend but can't help it because someone with his face and his mannerisms fucking ruined their lives a fair bit for a fair amount of time and Stiles knows the swearing is more Stiles than Scott - but that doesn't matter, because this is their feelings in words and terms he'd understand - and Stiles understands he shouldn't be paying this much attention to someone's emotions because he can, and has gotten lost in them before, trying to figure them out and root out the reasons and motives and he just needs to know _why,_ and if he let himself he could know a person inside-out, could understand exactly what makes them tick, could drain emotions he doesn't like and manipulate them into how he wishes, and this is no longer about Scott, this is about him. And Stiles knows he's a little messed up, okay? He gets that.)

Stiles blinks, clears his throat. His eyes go whiskey-gold again - the more he dug deeper in with his power, the darker his eyes got.

It's a weird thing. But at least it lets Malia know when he's not all there, and when he's wholly present. That's something that is very much required, as of late.

"Hey." She says, softer than usual. Stiles nods, and she pats his shoulder softly.

(She gets a little gentle, when that happens. He knows why, of course, and for some reason he doesn't mind.)

(He thinks he would if it were anyone else.)

"Stiles?" Scott asks - not in the sense of if he is Stiles - to which the teen is grateful - but in the sense that he want's to know if Stiles is _there,_ for which he is not thankful. 

(Dementophobia, anyone?)

"Yeah. I'm fine." Stiles replies, automatic. "Did you want to know anything else?" He says, changing the subject. Scott nods, and lets it go for now.

"So, you can - do the pain thing." Scott starts. "Is it any different from ours? as in the were wolf one." He adds as unnecessary explanation. Stiles sighs.

"Don't freak." He warns, because Scott would - might, do so.

"But no. More -" Stiles winces, visibly. "More like the one he used, if you get what I mean."

Scott sighs. He doesn't freak out, thankfully, just - Stiles doesn't want to know. He focuses his empathy on Malia, even though he knows that that's probably dangerous.

(Like what happened earlier... he gets lost.)

"He?" Liam asks. Now would be a good time for the runt to not talk, Stiles thinks. Liam notices the looks on their faces, and sits back; doesn't ask again.

Maybe it was the look on his face, Stiles thinks, but it doesn't matter. Not now, anyway.

"Alright." Scott continues from earlier. "So; pain drain thing. Anything else?"

Stiles doesn't particularly want to say. Malia glances over, sighs, and replies for him. 

"Empathy. Random bouts of enhanced strength - though, as far as I'm aware..." She paused, glanced at Lydia, Stiles. "That happened before." She carried on, after neither objected. Malia ignored Scott's attempt to ask what Mal meant as she did so. "His intuition is pretty much uncanny - though that's part of the empathy, I think." She states, a tad uncertain. "Like, knowing stuff he has no right to know, for example." Malia offers. "That's all I know." She admits. "But I think there might be other stuff. I only met him during it's stay." She says bluntly. "So I don't really know what to compare his abilities to." Scott acknowledges this, and then turns his gaze to Stiles. 

"Is there, then?" Scott asks, and Stiles shrugs. "Don't think so." He says, truthfully. 

"Then this meeting is adjourned." Lydia says. Stiles narrows his eyes at her - because he knows that means this interrogation isn't over, in her eyes. She smiles at him, prettily, but he knows to ignore that.

(It doesn't reach her eyes. Stiles wonders what she's planning.) 

(Malia seems to notice as well, as her hand tightens on his bicep. Other than that, she doesn't react.)

"I need to get home," Liam says - breaking the silence. "Dad... he's probably waiting. Worried." Liam reasons, gets up and leaves the room, nodding to Scott as he went. 

"See ya, Liam." Stiles says, and he feels tired. It's been a long few days, but they have school in - not long, and Stiles missed it yesterday so he can't miss it again. 

They all look tired to him. He knows it's because they spent all night looking for them, in the woods, then had to wait up until they returned home - getting there only at first light... and it had been very dark out when Stiles had last seen them. 

Scott grimaces, cracks his neck. It's loud to Stiles, and it's the same for Malia apparently, because she winces. 

"School's soon." Scott says, sighs out - tired as all hell, Stiles knows. 

He's never done this before - but it's worth a try. 

Stiles gets up, and pats Scott on the shoulder on his way out of the living room. Small tendrils shoot out from Stiles and through to Scott - and his friend sits up a little straighter, his eyes widen a bit and stop drooping. 

Scott blinks, a little, shrugs and helps Kira up. "We've gotta go." He says. Stiles acknowledges this with a dismissive wave of his hand as he enters the kitchen.

"Yeah, Scotty. Just go - don't wanna be late for class." He says, honest. Their attendance already sucks; they really can't deal with it being made any worse. 

Stiles can tell Scott nods and leaves with Kira, opening the door for her and letting her leave first. 

Stiles listens, and can hear a conversation between Malia and Scott. He leaves it be, for now - but he admits he probably wouldn't've if he'd been... not been... damnit. If he'd been strong enough (there we go) to eavesdrop - but he isn't, and he's tired. So he lets it go.

(for now.)

* * *

Lydia is... shall we say, a tad bit annoyed. She got even less out of that intervention than when the two invited her over, and she knows she really should have expected this, of course she does - but it doesn't help her mood. 

"Where does Mandy Briarson usually spend her time?" She asks the sophomore - it's easier to intimidate the younger gossips into telling her what she wants to know. The older ones she has to bribe, and that costs her something. Right now, she doesn't want to have to pay anyone anything - as she's rather annoyed, to say the least. 

(and having to fork over something, be it cash or something she doesn't have readily on hand would be aggravating - so she goes another route.)

"Well?" She demands. This mood probably has more to do with her being  _very_ tired more than anything else - though on the plus side she did get some alone time with Parrish, which was nice. 

(After all, he's a rather attractive man. And she's done with teenage boys.)

"Library." The girl says. She's blonde, and shorter than Lydia, and is wearing some god awful jeans. Really, Lydia feels bad for the girl's legs. 

"Usually in the fiction section." She adds. "Never seems to be anywhere else during the day. She's also a member of that weird occult club, so that could be an in." The blond added. Lydia has dubbed her Blondie. 

(It's a little better than Bob. But not by much.)

"She sits outside under the tree on the edge of campus during lunch." The girl finishes. Lydia smiles falsely, and nods. "Thank you for the information." She finishes. 

The girl nods and scrambles. Lydia exits the classroom by the other door, and smooths out her skirt. 

She's going to figure this out, even if she has to figure it out alone. It's not like she hasn't done that before. 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh shit. Plot's a-happening.


End file.
